


Glass Vials

by crimson_violet



Category: Original Work
Genre: Aromantic, Arranged Marriage, Asexual Character, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Magic, No Romance, Platonic Relationships, Potions, Recovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:55:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27501148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimson_violet/pseuds/crimson_violet
Summary: Violet Crane's mother died unfairly young, and now Violet is due to be married off to a stranger. She resolves to either manipulate him into compliance, kill him, or die trying. What she did not expect was to become friends with him.
Relationships: Original Female Character & Original Male Character
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

On the rainiest night in November, Violet's mother passed away. Lavender Crane died gently in her sleep, and when her seven-year-old daughter woke up the next morning, her whole world ended. Violet cried and cried and cried, and _that_ didn't seem to do much good at all, so she decided after that to never cry again. And she was good at it. She would have succeeded if her father hadn't turned out to just be a terrible, awful excuse for a human being. Before Lavender's death, Siegfried Crane had been mildly cold and distant, but never outright cruel. After, well. That changed quickly. Too quickly for young Violet to understand.

For the next ten years, Violet knew the pain of being locked away in her room, of being forced to read difficult books and recite them back to him, the pain of being slapped across her face for making a mistake in her learning, the pain of his words biting into her saying she is worthless and stupid. To mitigate this pain, she focused her learning elsewhere. She learned to escape her room unseen and unheard, to bluff and cheat her way through her studies, to bear the physical and mental pain in silence. Getting caught at these brought more punishments and pain, of course, but at least it was for something she could control. She only let the tears spill out of her eyes when she was alone in her room. 

When she was fifteen, once she had become _particularly troublesome_ , she caught her father putting something in her drink one day, a clear liquid from a slim glass vial labelled _Obedience_ in neatly inked black letters. Alchemy. Violet wondered how long her father had been slipping it to her, and tried to think back. Had she been sneaking out less often recently? Had she been more inclined to do what he said? There was no way to know for sure. She threw the drink at the floor, of course. Her father had screamed at her as she dodged a punch from him, and she had screamed right back. But she had to drink eventually. And with the drink came the dulling of her senses, the softening of her anger, and the weakening of her will. She learned to recognize the feeling well. She could tell the dose was increasing.

She slipped out at night, when she could, trying to get enough water from elsewhere in the city to sustain herself. She collected rainwater from her window, and when she had enough, used it to grant herself the hours of clear-headedness that she needed to sneak out, gathering water from city fountains. That ended poorly when she was spotted by someone who apparently recognized her, who promptly called the city guardsmen _and_ her father. Bastards. It soon became clear that her father has enough connections in the city that she would never make it out of there successfully if she were to try. She tried anyway, just to see what would happen. Her father locked her up a little more _permanently_. A ring of rune-markings surrounded the house, forming a spell circle around it. A spell circle that kept Violet (and _only_ Violet) inside of an invisible barrier. That put a stop to her nighttime adventures into the city.

Then, when Violet was seventeen, everything changed again. Her father told her that she was almost of age, which she figured was probably good. She was wrong. Apparently that meant it was nearly time for her to get married off to some sodding _man_ with too much money and not enough sense. Siegfried said that's the only thing she's good for, and that he was in the process right now of finding one such man for her to wed. Violet wasn't sure if she wanted to scream or cry or be ill, or all of those at once. Probably scream. She settled for a stony face and hardened eyes. The goal of all this for her father was to receive a dowry from and access to a noble family, no doubt. Violet wondered, not for the first time, if she should kill Siegfried Crane. But he was much larger than her, and always on his guard after catching her one time too many with a blade in her hand. And there's the matter of all the guardsmen he apparently had in his pocket. She _can't_ kill him and survive. And she was determined to survive, whatever it takes. Besides, a nobleman with more money than sense could _certainly_ be more easily manipulated than her father. And if she couldn't manage that, then… it was kill or be killed.

 _Whatever it takes_. Violet broke into the room where her father's potions were stored. She'd seen him go in and out often, carrying boxes filled with potions, but she'd never been allowed inside. Inside the room, the walls were lined with delicate vials of varying shapes and sizes. Violet spotted a shelf full of the ones labeled _Obedience_ , and had to fight down the urge to just smash it all. He couldn't know she was here. Her eyes scanned the shelves- she saw _Clarity, Intelligence, Peace, Flight, Trust, Darkness, Serenity, Healing, Pain_ … ah. Here it was. _Sterility_. A neat row of the potions lined the shelf, in small teardrop shaped bottles. The liquid inside them was an inky black. She thanked the gods that it was here. Violet could allow herself to get married, if it meant getting out of this house, but she could _not_ stomach the thought of bearing children. Not that she would let whatever rich idiot her father roped into marrying her get close enough to even try anything. But. It didn't do to take chances. Violet downed a vial of Sterility in one swallow, and that swallow _burned_. She refilled the vial with ink from her father's desk, and replaced it on the shelf before returning to her room.

Violet was sick as a dog and she _hurt_ for the next week, but she was used to hiding hurt. All the blood was harder to hide, but she managed. And then, it was done. The potion ran its course and she was safe. Not safe from everything of course, but safe in this way. And that _mattered_. Violet was ready for the next step. This would not break her. This _could_ not break her.


	2. Chapter 2

Carlyle Everhardt fiddled with the buttons on his sleeves as his mother went through the day's mail. Lydia Everhardt looked up at him from the letter she was reading.

"Now Carlyle," she began, "I know you've never expressed much interest in getting married, but…" 

So it was  _ that _ kind of letter then. His parents had never exactly pushed for him to get married, but… he could tell they wished for it sometimes. For the most part, Lydia and Cassius Everhardt were happy to let their youngest son do whatever he wanted to. Carlyle mostly stuck to learning things-- he'd gone through several private tutors for biology and alchemy as he worked through the levels of education available in those subjects. He also spent plenty of time sketching plants and getting acquainted with the local wildlife - he tended to find humans far more confusing to interact with than animals. Since he was so many years younger than both his elder brothers, there was really no need for him to do anything in particular with his life, so he made what he wanted of it. Everett and Gideon had long been married and were raising families of their own. However. Lydia always got a bit overexcited about the thought of her youngest son starting a family too. Carlyle didn't really think that this sounded like a good use of his time. He'd  _ tried _ , he'd certainly tried, but really. It all seemed terribly dull. He'd been on several awkward dates that his mother had set up for him with both heirs to the Trellwyn estate, the Countess Lavelle, Isabelle Montremar,  _ and _ Lord Glaithwright, not to mention whatever that business had been with Andrew Gelfstein. The so-called dates were all simultaneously dull and nerve-wracking. After that, Lydia had seemed to notice that Carlyle wasn't having a  _ great _ time, and she'd softened the approach. Mostly.

Lydia slid the letter across the table to him. There was an extra slip of paper on the top with a sketch.

"She looks nice, doesn't she?" Lydia asked.

"Nice" was not at all an apt descriptor of how the young lady in the sketch looked. "Expressionless" was more like it, or maybe "guarded". She had long dark hair, probably either brown or black, half pinned up at the back of her head and half sweeping down behind her back, and very light eyes that were likely a brilliant shade of green or blue in person. She wore a dress, but didn't carry herself as if she were used to it. Carlyle scanned the first few lines of the letter. It was written by the girl's father, with good ink in a neat hand, and contained little in the way of actual information beyond the usual niceties.

"Violet Crane?" He asked his mother.

"Yes! They aren't a noble family, but they're actually rather well off. Siegfried Crane has been doing rather well for himself these days."

There was a familiar cast to the eyes of the girl in the sketch that Carlyle couldn't quite place. She looked somehow… different from the usual crowds of young faces that he'd spotted from the backs of dance halls. There was something there, though he couldn't say what. And  _ that _ made him curious. He didn't think he was particularly interested in  _ marrying _ this young lady, but… those eyes held something. He had to meet her, at least. The name "Crane" seemed familiar too, he just couldn't quite place it.

"Well…" Carlyle hesitated before continuing. "Perhaps I will call on her."

His mother's eyes shone with excitement and Carlyle fervently hoped that this wasn't a bad idea.

"That's excellent! I'll have your reply written straight away." Lydia hurried off to get that done, beaming.

\---

Carlyle received a letter back from Siegfried Crane within two days time. He was invited to visit their home later that week. Preparing for that visit was nauseating, to say the least. He didn't bother going out to the city very often, preferring to stay in the countryside away from the rush of people. And. Well. He hadn't made a visit of  _ this _ nature for at least two years, when he'd thought his mother had given up on the subject entirely (after that whole ordeal with Gelfstein had made it clear that it was never going to happen). On the day of, Lydia fussed over him  _ terribly _ . He loved her with all his heart, but honestly. This was a bit much.

"Carlyle, dear, you need to tie your hair back. You can't just go out with it flopping about all over the place!" Lydia stood on her tiptoes, frantically trying to brush strands of stray hair into place with her fingers.

"Mother, I  _ promise _ long hair is in fashion right now. Wearing it down is perfectly normal. And more comfortable."

Lydia turned her critical eye toward his clothes instead.

"Are you really going to wear that today? Seems a little casual… if only it were a bit more..." She picked at the collar of his coat, trying to make it stand a little straighter, and then prodded the fabric of his cravat. She might have so a little more enthusiastically than she'd intended.

" _ Mother! _ I promise, it's fine." Carlyle yelped.

"Right, right. Sorry darling! I'll get out of your hair. I'll let Peters with the carriage know you're almost ready." Lydia trotted out of his room, her fussing stymied, but still abuzz with excitement.

Carlyle ran his hand through his long red hair one more time, huffed out a sigh, and decided it was time to go. Hopefully,  _ hopefully _ something interesting would come of the day.

\---

The carriage rolled to a stop in front of the Crane household, and Carlyle hopped out, thanking Peters for his time. The house was three levels tall, and had a small gravel path that lead through a neglected looking garden area to the front door. Around the perimeter of the house, half covered by overgrown plants, he could see the edges of a runic spell circle, inscribed in stone. The markings looked familiar, similar to the ones around his own family's properties that helped keep out unwelcome guests. He passed the boundary with no issue though, and walked up the path to the door. After he used the dark metal door knocker to rap at the door, a moment of silence passed.

The door was opened by a broad shouldered, severe-looking man with dark hair and a dark beard, both touched by the slightest hints of grey. Siegfried Crane. And through the doorway behind the man, the barest glimpse of the next room. In that room was a young lady with long brown hair, half pinned up behind her head and half falling free behind her shoulders, and pale blue eyes that narrowed when they met Carlyle's. Her gaze pierced right through him.  _ Violet. _


	3. Chapter 3

Her father had made her wear a dress for the occasion, which was… uncomfortable in more ways than one. Beyond just the physical feeling of being too restricted and too exposed at the same time, there was also the matter of the way she looked. When Violet caught a glimpse of her reflection, she could almost see her mother. _Almost_ , but not quite right. The deep purple silk against the black lace was appealing, she liked that, it even suited her. But the whole shape of the garment felt wrong on her, from the neckline to the flare of the skirt. And besides, the lace on it itched. She and her father waited downstairs for… whoever this man was to arrive, and when the gentle knock came at the door it sent a wash of dread down her spine.

Her father opened the door and Violet looked up to see their guest. He was tall, taller than her, but skinny. Skinny enough for her to overpower if she had to. He had long red hair that grazed his shoulders, and warm brown eyes that looked faintly shocked when they met hers. He wore a long coat in a dark forest green, with a grey waistcoat and trousers, a silken cravat in a brighter green, and a crisp cream-colored shirt underneath. She tried to arrange her face into an expression that would be a little more agreeable. The smile felt wrong on her face, but everything felt wrong anyway. She couldn't even remember the last time she'd smiled for real. It was probably sometime before her mother had died.

"Mr. Everhardt, please, come in." Her father gestured with his hand to the armchair in the drawing room that stood opposite to the sofa that Violet was on.

"Thank you, Mr. Crane." The man (Carlyle? Violet thought that was the name she'd heard) stepped through the doorway and shook hands with her father. Then he turned to face her. "And you must be Violet Crane?"

Her father sent her a sharp look. She rose to greet the man, valiantly keeping the smile affixed to her face.

"Yeah." She shook his hand, taking careful note of the weight and pressure. She was fairly confident that she was stronger than him. His fingers were slim and his hand was soft, and she figured he'd probably never worked a day in his life. _Definitely_ more money than sense. She could do this. 

"It's a delight to meet you, Miss Crane. My name is Carlyle Everhardt." He actually sounded sincere when he said it.

Carlyle took a seat across from her, and her father took one next to her. Violet felt her skin prickle in discomfort at sitting so close to her father. Siegfried invited them to partake of the biscuits and tea that he'd set up on the small table between them. Carlyle took a biscuit, Siegfried smiled and took nothing, and seeing that, Violet guessed that the food had been spiked with some kind of potion. She took nothing as well. Spiked with _what_ though? It couldn't be anything too bad, as her father clearly wanted a marriage to go through. It was likely something to help that along. She suppressed a shudder.

Carlyle seemed terribly interested in asking questions about her, questions that she forced herself to answer politely, lying sweetly about what she liked to do in her free time, what she liked to read about, what she liked to study. He seemed to avoid mentioning the topic of marriage entirely. Violet wasn't sure if that was good or bad. It was, however, terribly dull. She found herself examining him for signs of being affected by a potion rather than paying much attention to his words. His eyes were bright, interested, engaged. Observant. Was that due to a potion or was that his natural personality? Or both? He seemed amiable enough, at least. There was only so much a potion could change without arousing suspicion or becoming apparent to her. And her father had barely spoken at all, hadn't given any orders or suggestions. So. The potion must be working to amplify something that was already there. That was acceptable. It would be either _Interest_ or _Desire_ , she decided. Those were similar enough, after all, and Carlyle's behavior could be a match for either. The effects of either were vague and undefined at best-- they merely worked to increase the user's interest or desire for what they were already interested in or desirous of. It was probably _Interest_ , she thought. A dose small enough for the taste to go unnoticed would wear off within a couple hours. The aftereffects of the potion would linger though, the memories and the thoughts they'd had under its influence were still very real. Still. She could deal with that.

It seemed like _far_ too much time had passed before Carlyle finally seemed to be getting ready to leave. Violet surfaced from her thoughts in order to bid him good day, and watched him leave through the front door. Her father shut the door and removed the tea tray from the table. Violet caught the barest flash of her mother's image in her own reflection in the polished dark wood of the tabletop. She looked away. Then it was back to being shut up in her room.

Her father informed her the next day that Carlyle had sent a letter requesting to see her again. Great. May as well get this whole part of the process over with as quickly as possible.

When he did though, she hadn't expected him to ask to walk through the remains of her mother's woefully neglected garden with her. She _certainly_ hadn't expected him, once out of earshot of her father, to softly whisper to her in an urgent voice.

"Miss Crane, I don't have enough time to speak to you in private, but I've written a letter. It's in the left pocket of my coat. Take it, read it, and _don't let him see_."

His eyes were hopeful, soft, and _concerned_ . So. He knew (but _how_ did he know?), and… he wanted to talk about it? Maybe even to help? She didn't trust him nearly enough to let herself feel hope. It wasn't like anyone had bothered to help before. But. Not _allowing_ herself to feel hope was different from not having hope at all. She deftly picked his coat pocket and hid the paper that she found there in her hand, folded tightly. Her hand closed into a fist, which buried itself in the folds of the full skirts of _yet another_ uncomfortable dress that her father had made her wear.

Violet hissed back, "Don't eat _anything_ he gives you." He gave her a single sharp nod before offering his arm to lead her back inside.

She kept the paper clutched tightly in her hand until she was finally alone again in her room. Then she unfolded it and smoothed it out.


	4. Chapter 4

By the time he was leaving the Crane household after his first visit, Carlyle was just _burning_ with fascination and curiosity about Violet. She made conversation in a reticent, stony tone one moment, and a sweetly charming one the next. A smile had looked terribly out of place on her face, though he couldn't put a finger on _why_ it did that, and then there was the matter of her eyes. The sweetness in her voice didn't sit quite right with them either, and there was a look in them that seemed very familiar. As he stepped out the doorway the door clicked shut behind him, and something in his mind clicked as well. The look in her eyes. It was the look of a trapped animal, furious and desperate. Just as ready to lash out as to harm itself in the process.

His heart was suddenly racing as he made his way off the property and back towards the carriage where Peters waited. As he passed over the border again, he caught sight of the runic circle around the house for a second time. The way the overgrown garden covered the runes and the way the carvings blended with the other cracks in the stone hid them well. But they were still visible, if you were looking. The symbols were the same as the ones around the Everhardt estate that kept out unwanted guests, yes, but there was something off. They were inverted, focusing inward rather than out-- they were there to keep something from leaving. Some _one_ from leaving. It was perfectly legal to have such a runic fence around one's property, there were legitimate uses for it. To keep livestock or pets contained inside. But Violet and Siegfried were the only people living in that house, and it certainly wasn't Siegfried who was prevented from leaving. This wasn't so much a house as it was a large and unforgiving cage for one person. Violet. This was bad. This was very _very_ bad. But he thought, _maybe_ , he'd have a chance at being able to help. She would have to leave the house once she was married, after all. The cost of doing that, the dowry that would need to go to Siegfried Crane, was high. But Carlyle could certainly spare that. Money, in exchange for freedom, in exchange for life? That was nothing.

By the time he'd arrived back at home, that burning fascination he'd had had dissipated, but his mind was already running, trying to figure out what to do next. This was a problem to solve. He had to call on Violet again, of course. He had the letter sent out straight away. And then-- he needed to be able to communicate with Violet. Her assent and cooperation would of course be essential. He couldn't really talk to her about it, not in front of her father. But he could probably pass a note to her. He set to writing a letter.

\--

_Dear Miss Crane,_

_It has come to my attention that you are, most likely, being kept in your home against your will. If that is the case, then please read this carefully and then destroy it. I would like to help you out of your current situation, if you are agreeable. Your father wishes you to be wed, and if you were to get married to me, you would be out of his house and free to go where you wished. I have no interest in the idea of marriage, other than that it might help you._

_I will call on you again within the next week. If you are agreeable to this plan, please let me know with a nod when we meet. If not, then I wish you well with your endeavors._

_Carlyle Everhardt_

\--

Carlyle considered the words he had written, then reconsidered part of his decision and carefully tore off the strip of paper that bore his name. It was probably still obvious that it was from him, but… if the note ended up in the hands of Siegfried Crane, at least it wouldn't have Carlyle's name all over it. He was fairly sure that Siegfried was also pursuing other suitors for Violet, so it could feasibly have been from any of them. The remainder of the page he folded tightly into as small of a square that he could. It fit into his palm neatly.

His mother was absolutely _ecstatic_ to hear that he planned to call on Violet again. Carlyle didn't want to voice his suspicions to her, because it wouldn't do to just go around disparaging the name of Siegfried Crane if he turned out to be wrong. And if he turned out to be _right_ , well. Lydia Everhardt was known to be an unabashed gossip, and he couldn't just have her going around telling everyone about his plans. But that put him in the uncomfortable position of both dealing with an overenthusiastic mother and knowing that he'd be disappointing her sometime very soon, one way or another. He rather hoped he wasn't right honestly, because if Violet was being kept against her will in her home by her own father, then… that was simply terrible.

On the day that he planned to meet Violet for the second time, Carlyle dressed himself carefully, and slipped the tightly folded letter into his coat pocket. He managed to get the note to Violet without too much of an issue. As stiff and uncomfortable as she seemed in her dress, her hands were quick and light. He didn't even feel her take the note from him. Since her immediate reaction had been to warn him off of eating anything her father tried to serve him, it seemed that he had probably been right about the situation. And in that case, _good gods, just what had he eaten last time he'd been there?_

He made arrangements to call on her again as soon as possible. Lydia Everhardt was absolutely thrilled. He would have to tell her the true plan once Violet was safe and clear, and hopefully she wouldn't be _too_ disappointed. His mother had a good heart, and she wouldn't want a young lady to be locked up by her father any more than he did. His own father, Cassius, seemed pleased as well, if in a much more subdued way than Lydia.

The third time Carlyle visited Violet, she greeted him with a single, sharp nod. That was that, then.

"Mr. Crane, I'd like to make plans to marry Violet as soon as possible," he said to Siegfried. The words tasted odd and heavy on his tongue-- not quite a lie, but not really the truth either. 

Siegfried Crane smiled a satisfied smile. "Excellent." Carlyle suppressed a shiver.

Arrangements were discussed and Carlyle agreed to reserve a time and a place for the event. And he was absolutely sure his mother would be more than pleased to plan the rest. He was careful to decline any food or drink offered by Siegfried while he was there, saying that he'd eaten just before coming (which was true). Violet, for her part, was mostly silent, speaking only to reply to direct questions. As he made ready to leave, Violet extended her hand for him to shake. A single firm clasp of hands that, once released, left him with a tightly folded scrap of paper pressed into the center of his palm. He stuffed both hands into his coat pockets, hiding it there. Once he was alone in the carriage, he unfolded it to read the note written in Violet's hurried and scratchy hand.


	5. Chapter 5

Violet had penned her own response to Carlyle's note.

\--

_Agreeable. My father will, no doubt, have me dosed to high hell with Obedience on the day I get married. If you try anything, know that I_ _WILL_ _kill you._

\--

After pressing it into Carlyle's hand, all she could do was sit and wait. The waiting was the worst part, made even more terrible by the fact that her father didn't even deign to inform her of any of the plans. Days melted into weeks. The only thing that warned her that the day of the wedding was approaching was a sudden and sharp increase in the amount of _Obedience_ her father was slipping into her food and drink. There was so much of the stuff soaking into her meals that her tongue was thick with it, covered in the sickly sweet taste of it. She had expected this, of course. He couldn't have her running away or acting up during the wedding or right after it. After a week of high doses, she figured there was enough of the stuff inside her to last a few days after she stopped taking any. She tried eating and drinking as little as she could, but she did still need to have _something_ . It wouldn't be wise to weaken her body. The _Obedience_ would cloud her mind and make her thoughts come slowly and leave her willpower broken for a little while, sure, but starving herself would leave her even more vulnerable. So Violet obeyed.

One morning, she heard her father ascend the stairs and open the door to her room. He thrust a cream colored dress at her. "Put it on."

So today was it, then. In an objective sense, the dress was beautiful-- the translucent layers of fabric formed into a wonderfully floaty and soft shape, the drapery was elegant and delicate, and the construction impeccable. But on her, it felt like it was wrapping her up and suffocating her, like it was something she was about to be buried in. A delicate pair of gloves formed white lacy cuffs around her wrists, and more lace still was at her throat. After she finished lacing the back of the dress up, Violet looked up and into the mirror. The reflection looking back at her looked so much more painfully like her mother than it usually did that she had to look away. Her father came to lead her away, and the potions affecting her mind made all her thoughts come slow and heavy, and it was easy to just let everything happen around her. It was _so_ easy.

"Do what Carlyle Everhardt tells you," her father said, "and _don't_ run away. Now, come along" That was easy to do, she could do that without even thinking at all. Her feet followed her father down the stairs and out the door without her telling them to do anything at all.

She got into a carriage with her father, which trundled down the road. The swaying lulled her half to sleep, and when it stopped, she blinked out the window and her breath caught in her throat for a moment. They were at the Church of the Earth Mother, goddess of the green and growing. They were at the place her mother had worshipped. She allowed herself to be lead inside, where green ribbons and white flowers complemented the wood and brick of the building.

"Go on," her father said, "and don't make a scene."

She went on. It was all kind of a blur, voiced and faces blending together, people telling her where to go and what to do. She saw the flash of Carlyle's red hair, and then several more individuals with hair of varying shades of red and brown. She supposed that was his family. She numbly held out her hands to Carlyle when instructed to, who clasped them in his own-- hands clad in delicate white gloves held by hands clad in soft black leather. Words washed over her, droning on and on, someone was talking and someone was wrapping a silken ribbon around their hands, loosely binding them together. The ribbon was soft greyish green, the color of moss in the shade, and it captured her eyes. So many fine fabrics, yet she was still in a cage. Someone else took the ribbon off, and she swayed in place and the world was full of fuzzy shapes and blurred lines. Carlyle looked down at her, concerned.

"Okay," he said. "It's over. Come on, let's get you home." Her body obeyed his words, following without her mind giving a second thought to anything.

They entered a carriage drawn by a dappled brown horse. This time, the rhythm of the horses hooves and the motion of the carriage really did lull her to sleep. She awoke to see they were in the countryside, approaching a lovely house of white-painted wood capped by neatly pointed gables. Ivy was partway through creeping up the sides of the house, and a scattering of flowers and plants lined the path to the door.

"You're awake!" said Carlyle, who was sitting opposite her in the back of the carriage. "Are you alright?"

"... I'll live." Violet stared out the window to where the grass was lush and green unending. Sprays of flowers adorned the landscape, and she could see other houses past the soft curve of the hill. "Where are we?"

"This is my family's estate. We're coming up to the cottage now." He may have called it a cottage, but it was _big_. To Violet, it may have just as well been a castle.

"Are you still suffering the effects of Obedience?" Carlyle asked her.

"Yeah. Probably for a couple days. So. Don't tell me what to do." Violet's words were short and clipped. Doing much of anything was an effort.

"Alright. You can do as you'd like, you know. You'll need to eat uncontaminated food, and sleep that off then. Once you're in full control of your mental faculties again, we can talk about how you can safely disappear. If you like."

"Yeah." _Gods_ , she was exhausted.

The carriage rolled to a stop and Carlyle hopped out. He extended a hand to help Violet down. On any other day, she would have given that hand a withering look and hopped out herself, but even that was too much to muster. She took it, and was led into the house. Despite the heaviness of her limbs and the clouding in her mind, her top priority now was to get out of this ridiculous dress and into something ( _anything_ ) more reasonable.

She plucked at the dress. "I… want to get out of this. Is there-- where can I--?"

"Ah. Your father had all your things sent here-- Peters should have brought them up to your room this morning." Carlyle led her up a sweeping set of stairs to a second floor. "Second door on the right! Everything should be in the wardrobe there."

Violet entered, latching the door behind her. The room was large. Much larger than the bedroom she'd left this morning, and filled with natural light. The bed was elegant and draped in simple but very soft looking covers, and the wardrobe stood across from that, it's dark polished wood gleaming. She opened it, and huffed out an exasperated breath. It was _all_ dresses. Well-- dresses and hats and shoes and underthings. Her father hadn't bothered to send anything else. Stalking back to the door, she unlatched it and wrenched it open, startling Carlyle in the hallway.

"It's all dresses. Do you have anything _else_?" Violet asked.

"Oh hrm… well, you could try some of mine. They won't fit you perfectly, of course, but they should serve until we can get you some more. Let me go get some!" He seemed to brighten a bit, as if _this_ were the most exciting part of his day, as he walked down the hallway into the next room. When he returned, his arms were laden with a few pairs of trousers, shirts, and vests in different colors. 

"Hopefully those should fit _somewhat…_ let me know if they don't though, I _do_ know a tailor in town who can do a very good rush job! Otherwise we can wait til you feel a bit better before going out for something like that." He considered her for a moment. "I'm terribly sorry your father didn't provide you with anything that suited your tastes."

Violet snatched the pile of clothes from him and retreated back into her room without another word. From the pile, she found a black shirt and grey trousers to put on. The clothes fit, kind of. The pants had to be cuffed a few times, and were the slightest bit too tight around her hips. The shirt was a little long, but would do just fine. She didn't bother with a vest, they wouldn't fit right around her chest anyway. She smoothed the clothes down. That felt… a bit better. Much better than the dress, anyway. She doesn't quite dare to think that she's safe yet, but the hope is certainly there now.


	6. Chapter 6

Carlyle looked up as Violet descended the stairs. Though she looked wary and exhausted, she looked _much_ more comfortable.

"Are you hungry?" he asked. "You'll need to have some food and drink that haven't been spiked with all manner of potions that _should_ by all rights be illegal-- I can't fathom _why_ society finds it acceptable for some people to feed that stuff to children to keep them in line, just because they were deemed unruly… er. Anyways, you'll need to eat in order to flush that from your system fully."

Violet merely nodded, her eyes slow and heavy.

"Alright. Let's see what Adeline down in the kitchens has made for us, then shall we?" Carlyle started to walk off at a brisk pace, before realizing he was leading Violet behind. She followed with a slow and steady tread, and he waited for her before continuing at a slower pace. Violet's eyes looked a bit glassy, and Carlyle had a sudden fear.

"Violet?"

"Mm?" Violet blinked out of her reverie.

"I-- did I? Were you following me because you wanted to, or was the _Obedience_ potion _making_ you do that?"

"I…" Violet paused. "It's hard to say. Hard to tell anymore."

It stung Carlyle's heart that she even had to say that. "Okay," he said, "I'll try to be more careful, okay? You don't have to do anything you don't want to."

"Sure," she grunted. He couldn't tell if she really believed him. She probably didn't, and with good reason based on what her father had done.

"Then," he said softly, " _I_ am going to the dining room, to have some dinner. _You_ are welcome do do whatever you want."

A hint of a smile pulled at Violet's lips before vanishing. She followed him.

As it turned out, Adeline down in the kitchens had made a lovely roast garlic chicken with a side salad, as well as an apple pie. That suited Carlyle just fine, though he wasn't as sure that Violet really liked it. She ate mechanically and expressionlessly, but she was _heavily_ dosed with a mind-altering potion and also exhausted, so. That was probably to be expected. At least she was eating. Hopefully she would be feeling better after a couple days of rest. After eating, she climbed the stairs back up to her room and sank into her bed fully clothed, and asleep immediately. And after a few days of eating and sleeping and not much talking, she _did_ improve. But she also… _didn't_. In other ways, she got much worse. It seemed that Violet would have more than just the effects of _Obedience_ to contend with.

Carlyle started noticing it when she dropped her fork with a clatter at dinner. He looked up, and her hand was shaking.

"Violet? Are you okay?"

"I'm _fine_ ," she insisted, growling out the words as if to suggest otherwise was the gravest insult he could give her. She snatched the fork back off the plate with a glare and continued eating. Carlyle started watching her a little more carefully after that.

The next morning, Violet didn't come down for breakfast and he was instantly worried. A soft knock at her bedroom door yielded no answer. After the passage of a few hours, his worry grew. A firmer knock at her door was met with an "mmf", which at least meant she was alive and conscious in there. Which was a start.

"Violet?"

The silence stretched out for far too long before her reply came.

"... Go away…" Violet's voice was raspy and her tone curt.

"Violet-- but-- you do need to eat something today--"

He was cut off by Violet's voice.

"Carlyle. Go. _Away_."

Right then. He went away, and realized with a jolt on his way downstairs that this was the first time he'd heard her say his name. After picking at his lunch and struggling to read a book for a few more hours without worrying over Violet _again_ every couple of pages, he went back upstairs with a tray of food.

Carlyle knocked gently at Violet's door yet again. "Violet? I'm leaving some food for you outside your door. I… hope you'll eat something today."

He was met with silence, but when he passed her room again that evening to enter his own, he saw that the tray was gone.

He didn't see Violet the next day either, but Adeline informed him that she'd come down to the kitchens for food sometime in the middle of the night. So that was good then. Perhaps she just needed some space for a while. The adjustment to being away from her father must not be an easy one. 

That night though, Carlyle was awoken from Violet _screaming_ in the next room. He rushed out of bed and hammered on her door.

"Violet? _Violet!_ "

From inside her room he heard Violet make a sound between a scream and a sob, and he heard her saying "No, no, no, no, _no--!_ " at increasing volume. Trying her door, he found it locked. He raced back to his room, fumbled for the house key in his bedside table, found it, and shoved it into the door. It unlocked with a click, and swung open.

Violet was hunched on the bed, arms around knees that were drawn up into her chest, and she was shivering. She was also crying, which he could see _very_ clearly as her reddened eyes snapped up to look at him.

"Oh," she said, and looked back down, gently rocking back and forth.

"Violet…" he took a step toward her. "What _happened_?"

"I had a nightmare," she mumbled. "It's _fine_ , okay?"

"You didn't sound fine." Another step toward her. "Are you sure you'll be--"

"I'm _fine_!" Violet spat. "And stop trying to creep your way toward me. Get _out_ of my room!"

"I wasn't trying to--" he stopped himself. "I'll… see you tomorrow?"

Violet gave no answer. He did not see her tomorrow.

The day after though, she did come down for breakfast.

"Violet," Carlyle tried, while she tore at her breakfast pastry. "I know you'll be wanting to move out and disappear soon. I, er, know you don't like it here much, and… did you want to talk about arrangements for getting you out of here without drawing attention from your father?"

She glared daggers at him. He was pretty sure that was uncalled for.

"I can't," she snapped. "I _can't--_ I-- I'm broken, I can't even--" Violet made a frustrated noise and seized the knife next to her plate, extending her arm to point the knife straight at Carlyle's heart from across the table. " _Look_ ," she said, sounding disgusted, "I can't even _defend_ myself."

The knife was shaking in her hand, and the rest of Violet was shaking with it. She dropped the knife and looked back down at her plate. She did not stop shaking.

"But," she said in acidic tone, "if you're _tired_ of having me around--"

"Violet I am most certainly _not_ tired of having you around, I simply want to help you!"

Violet shook harder, and Carlyle's heart _hurt_ at that.

"You might need… a lot more time to heal," he said softly. "And you are more than welcome to do that here." He paused, and, as gently as he could say it, "Is there… anything you want to talk about that might help?"

Violet let out a long and shaky breath, and then looked furious at herself for doing so.

"I… don't think so," she said. "Not now."

"That's perfectly alright. Do you… want to read something, perhaps?"

She scoffed, but then considered it. "Maybe… maybe a fantasy book. Like an adventure?"

Carlyle smiled at her. "I have a lot of books about adventures. Let's see if there are any that catch your eye."


	7. Chapter 7

Violet picked a book called _The Travels of Charlotte Harrington_ , which seemed to be a work of fiction about a young lady who had stolen an airship and gone on fantastical adventures with it. It was simple, it was safe, and it was fun. And that was good enough for Violet. More importantly, it was a distraction. Violet had been feeling… broken, as of late, and that made her feel mad because one, she'd sworn this wouldn't break her, and two, she'd survived through so many days that were much worse than these, _so why was she having issues now?_ She was frustrated, impatient, and didn't want to think about it.

Violet didn't want to think about how she'd been having dreams about her father looming over her, dreams about a booming voice telling her what to do and being powerless to resist. Dreams about her mother too, the life slipping away from her despite Violet's screams. Dreams about begging the gods to help her, any who would listen, and getting no answer. She didn't want to think about how she kept waking up in a cold sweat, trembling. She didn't want to think about how her hands kept shaking, her _body_ kept shaking, _for no gods-damned reason_. It was stupid. So she avoided thinking about it as much as possible. But these things have a way of making themselves known.

Violet looked up, after a few hours of being pleasantly lost in her book, and caught a glimpse of the pages of the book that Carlyle was reading. A flash of color on the page he was looking at. An illustration of a delicate flower, lined and painted in a familiar hand. She felt her fingertips go numb and her blood run cold with shock.

"What the _fuck_ is that?" Violet hissed, perhaps a bit more harshly than she'd intended. Carlyle startled and stammered, confused.

"Um. A botany book?"

"No. The flower." Violet stared at the page, eyes burning into it.

"Oh! That's a lilac." He tilted the book towards her, revealing the purple-white spray of flowers across the page, delicate petals and delicate leaves, all lovingly rendered.

"That's… that. My mother drew that."

" _Oh_ ," Carlyle said, looking faintly shocked, "your mother-- _your mother is--_ "

"Was," Violet corrected. "She was a botanical illustrator. Lavender Crane."

The tips of Carlyle's fingers traced the signature under the drawing that was printed on the page. _L Crane_.

"So that's why the name 'Crane' sounded familiar to me," he whispered. His eyes turned up towards Violet. "Your mother… she was very talented."

Violet took a breath and felt her throat suddenly tighten. "I-- I haven't seen her work since… when my mother died. My father threw away all her stuff after… after…" Her voice felt rough.

"I'm so sorry," Carlyle said, and he looked it too. "I think several more of her illustrations are in this book… and I know I have some others with her work in them around here somewhere. Do you-- do you want to look at them?"

She did, she wanted that more than anything, but she felt like if she opened her mouth again, she would cry. She didn't want to look weak, she didn't want to look _broken_ or _delicate_ or _emotional_. But what Violet didn't want didn't matter: the tears forced their way out anyway, regardless of her efforts, regardless of how much she hated them. They slipped down her cheeks as her hands clenched and her shoulders shook with the useless effort of trying to stop them. Her eyes were fixed on her mother's drawing of the lilac and she couldn't seem to move them away. And the grief hurt her, worse than it had in years, worse than she knew it still could. She pressed a hand to her chest and clawed at her heart, as if she could rip the pain away if she tried hard enough. She couldn't though. Of course she couldn't. Carlyle stood up, and sat next to her. With the book. She supposed that was acceptable.

"Violet…" he said, making an abortive gesture as if he were about to put his hand on her shoulder, but thought better of it. " _Violet, I'm so sorry._ "

He was warm next to her, _alive_ next to her, and she couldn't help but to lean inexorably closer. A moth to a flame, she thought. She tried not to shake. She tried and she tried and she _tried_ until she thought she was about to explode from all of it. And then Carlyle put his arm around her. That was… that was something. The weight of it felt like it would keep her from shattering. He was warm, alive, and solid. So she let him stay. At least, until she felt like she could breathe properly again. At that point, she shrugged him off of her.

"Can you show me?" She asked, her voice scratchy. "The book."

"Ah, yes, of course." Carlyle picked the book up from his lap, and paged through it again, to the page with the lilac on it.

Violet reached out and brushed her fingertips lightly along the page, the shadow of a caress. The alchemical image transfer, while it had slight imperfections, had captured the shape and texture of her mother's brush strokes and inking. If she concentrated, she could feel the texture of where the ink lay on the page, and how it differed from the bare paper. She wondered if this was the closest she'd ever get to her mother again.

"You said… you said there were more?" Violet asked of Carlyle.

"Oh, yes! There are quite a few actually. Your mother, she was an excellent artist. I… always like seeing the illustrations that are hers."

Carlyle shuffled through the pages of the book, looking for more drawings by Lavender Crane. Violet watched the pages turn under his careful fingers, the flashes of color blooming across the pages with illustrations. Her mother's hand had etched the likeness of so many different plants with care and accuracy, delicate petals and winding stems. Carlyle read out a few of the descriptions of the different plants, but Violet didn't really listen to that. His voice was warm and soft though, and it calmed her heart.

That night, Violet dreamed that she was holding a stack of loose papers, the originals of her mother's illustrations. The papers were suddenly wrenched from her hands and scattered around her, ripping themselves to pieces before blackening and crumbling into nothing. She woke up breathing hard, with a rawness in her throat that told her she's been screaming in her sleep. She knew that Carlyle must have heard her again, he was in the next room. One wall wasn't enough to muffle much of anything. Violet held her breath and let the quiet of the night press in on her ears. She heard Carlyle's breath from the other side of the wall, and it was not the deep, slow breath of someone who was asleep. So she'd woken him up. She heard him shift in his bed, unsure.

"... Carlyle?" If she could hear him breathe, he could certainly hear that.

"Violet? You-- are you--" he said before cutting himself off, as if he'd been about to ask if she was okay but had thought better of it. Violet wished it wasn't so damnably _obvious_ that she wasn't okay.

"... You can come in," she said. She unlocked her bedroom door.

Carlyle arrived a moment later, his hair mussed with sleep and his night clothes rumpled, but his eyes wide awake.

"Violet, are you-- do you need anything?"

"Do you have-- that book. With the flowers." She wanted to see it again. She needed to see it again.

"Of course! It's right downstairs, I can go fetch it, if that's what you…?" Carlyle looked to her for affirmation.

Violet gave a nod, but as Carlyle turned to leave she felt a pang in her chest and didn't want to be left here alone. 

"Wait!" she said in a panicked voice. He turned on his heel. "Can… maybe we can just both go get it." Violet felt like she was displaying all kinds of weakness here, but Carlyle simply smiled at her.

"Of course we can."

They did, and Carlyle sat next to her and watched over her shoulder as she paged through the book and gently touched her mother's signature on each of the pages that bore her drawings. She didn't quite make it through the whole book, and when she blinked awake in the morning she realized that they'd both fallen asleep on the couch downstairs, with the book in her lap. The sunbeams coming through the windows warmed her skin and made Carlyle's red hair shine like wildfire, and Violet felt like maybe now, _maybe now_ she was safe.


End file.
